Incognito - Chapter 2
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the easily recognizable characters. The rest is a nice mix between the real and fictional.
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: NC-15 (for a heck of a lot of swearing)
Word Count: ~ 3,000
Author's Note I: Based on
mxrolkr's great prompt, "What if Miranda blacklisted Andy from publishing and Andy wrote a set of children's books instead? What if the twins identified with the characters so much that they were desperate to meet the author? How would Miranda react when she found out?"
Constructive criticism is welcome and very much appreciated.
Author's Note II: I know this story has a bit of a longer build-up to any Miranda/Andy interaction than most. In fact--if my next two chapters go as planned, then Andy will actually only appear in Chapter 5. However, Miranda does put two and two together well before that--so I promise you will be returned to your regular programming in due course. I just thought it was worthwhile to really flesh out and play with the full cast of characters (and their motivations/circumstances), especially given that the story spans such a number of years and events.
“When you cast a pebble into a pond, look beyond the first ripple.” - Magistrate Velia of Aquallon, ‘The Forests of Moleris’
Late 2009
Albany, New York
“Mr Banks, do you have a moment?”
Steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation that he had no inclination or energy for, Doug stopped mid-stride, shuffling in a clumsy u-turn. “Dr Stevens.” Acknowledging the middle-aged woman with a curt nod, he queried edgily, “What can I do for you?”
“In to see your mother?” The penetrating stare scanned Doug from the tips of his slightly scuffed shoes to the ruffled fringe, almond eyes narrowing at the tail end of the examination.
“Yes. Is that a crime?” Inwardly cringing at his own frosty tone, Doug made an effort to soften his stance.
“No, of course not. But bouncing cheques-that’s another matter entirely.”
Swiping his chapped, dry lips with a flick of a tongue, Doug tried to bluff, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do. You’ve always been a terrible liar, Douglas. I’ve never needed childhood stories to confirm that. Now tell me-creases in an ill-fitting suit that’s seen much better days, a haircut that’s just lopsided enough that I know it wasn’t done professionally, the fact that you’ve lost, I am guessing, near enough twenty pounds-and now this?” Laura Stevens extracted a crisply folded sheet from within her coat pocket. “So… when exactly did you lose your job?”
A burning wave of humiliation washed over him that even here, where people only saw him a couple of times a month, he couldn’t pull off the air of success. No wonder he’d only managed to line up one interview in the last six weeks. It was bad enough that his résumé set off warning bells for half of New York City but even when he was lucky enough to get his foot in the door, well, apparently his presentation took care of the rest. “I-I…”
“Let me buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk. There’s a Starbucks a couple of doors down.” As if reading his indecision, she added softly but firmly, “This won’t go away, Douglas, no matter how much you want it to. In another month your mother is going to lose her place here at St Margaret’s and then… can you take care of her by yourself? Do you even know how?”
Gaze lowering to prod at an unevenly bitten fingernail, Doug didn’t even bother with an answer.
“That’s what I thought. Come on.”
Mentally running though a dozen carefully prepared lies took care of the short walk to the coffee shop. His first moment of awareness became a hot mug thrust in his general direction, a gentle shove pushing him down into a seat. “How did you know?” Doug stared at the foamy latte in surprise.
“You’ve been coming to visit your mother for seven years. And earlier, back when she was a little better, she talked about you. A lot.”
An involuntary smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, she does go on a bit. Sorry.”
“She’s a lovely woman, Doug. And you are a good son. But you can’t take care of her if you can’t even take care of yourself. So tell me… how long has it been?”
Pride and accountability hunching his shoulders, the carefully concocted story effortlessly sprung to his lips. Raising his gaze to the expectant one which regarded him with a wealth of patience, he opened his mouth, blurting out a totally unplanned, “Eightmonths.” Having fought for freedom for so long, the truth sailed out in one long exhalation, bringing with it an overwhelming lightness that he hadn’t expected to feel.
“Eight months?! Why didn’t you let us know sooner? We have programs, plans… we could have worked out some sort of-”
“I couldn’t. I just-if I told anyone, it’d be like… I mean if I never said it out loud then maybe…” A warm palm covered his death grip on the mug, the comforting touch breaking through the leftover barrier of resistance. “I kept thinking that I’d get the next one, then the one after, then… It wasn’t till three months ago that someone was kind enough to sit me down and just tell me flat out that I am not going to get hired again for a while, not with that on my résumé. So I started applying for any odd job that I could find but in this climate… Hell, I am a fucking graduate who is getting turned down to stack shelves in a store! It’s just…” chest heaving, Doug turned away, unwilling to let a near stranger see the film of tears.
“What is it that makes you such a leper, Doug? Your flaws are certainly well hidden.”
“Peterson, Smith & Northam.”
“I see.”
In the ensuing weight of silence, Doug reached for a sip of the latte, his taste buds revelling in the now almost forgotten smoothness of flavour.
“Well, that whole incident was hardly Enron.”
“You live in a different world and you know about it, don’t you? It was in the papers for weeks. People have long memories. Especially right now.”
“If my memory serves me right, the allegations were unproven.”
“Doesn’t matter. There’s no smoke without fire, that’s what people kept saying.” Turning to face her again, Doug spat out bitterly, “By the time the dust settled, the whole place was just… gone. I was only a research analyst-it’s not like I was even anywhere near the big decisions. But do you think that anyone cares about the truth -- the actual details? No. I’ve learned that the hard way.”
“So you’ve been paying all the bills yourself?”
“I had investments. Savings. I made them last as long as I could. But now…”
“Now finally the well is dry.”
“Technically, it dried up a month ago.”
“And there’s no-one else? No family? Friends?”
A brief memory of carefree laughter at a local restaurant flashed through his mind, too hazy for anything other than a fleeting burst of fondness. Shaking it off, Doug smiled, “My friend Lily helps me out where she can. You know, invites me to art showings and stuff-that’s practically a free meal sometimes. But she runs an art gallery, not exactly the world’s most profitable job. My other friends,” he paused to swallow the bitterness bubbling in his throat, “I guess as you grow older you tend to drift apart.”
“Well, then.” Assuming a brusque, business-like tone once more, Laura Stevens pulled out a pen and notepad, scribbling furiously as she started to talk. “I have good and bad news. The good news is - I hope you excel at emptying bed pans. The bad news is - we won’t be able to get you to start for at least a month. Meanwhile, perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement. I have a sick cat and I hate that she’s alone the whole day. Maybe I can pay you to-”
“I can’t… I am sorry.” Shooting up, Doug barely remembered his manners, mumbling, “Thank you, though. I’ll take the job. Here’s my number. Call me when you want for me to start.” Throwing his last wrinkled business card down on the table, he spun away, only to find his progress halted by a vice grip round his wrist.
“What are you going to do till then, Doug? Isn’t she worth more than your pride? Look -- most of us are in a tough place once a lifetime. You are still young, you’ll bounce back. She doesn’t have that luxury. Think about that.”
A dozen retorts ran through his head just as his gaze caught a familiar sight in the crumpled, abandoned newspaper. ‘Move over Harry Potter, there’s another wizard in town!’ blazed the headline, a grinning Nate, arm in arm with a slender redhead, exiting some exclusive New York restaurant. Recoiling stiffly, Doug breathed a sigh and closed his eyes, trying to fight back a score of different emotions. Gently tugging free, he felt the leathery, paper-thin skin slide through his fingers, the tips of his own lingering for just a second longer than what would have been deemed appropriate, before he finished dispassionately, “Thank you, Dr Stevens, I’ll see what I can do. I promise.”
The Plaza Hotel, New York
Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Nate gingerly felt his way to the bathroom, resting his forehead on the tile as he reached his destination. Twisting the tap, he plunged his head under the cold water, almost groaning in relief as the pounding in his temples momentarily abated. Before he could enjoy the respite, the pounding resumed again, Nate taking so long to distinguish between the imaginary and real that when it ceased again, he didn’t give it a moment’s thought.
“Jesus H. Christ-what the fuck did you get up to last night?”
Blindly waving a dismissive hand in his publicist’s general direction, Nate turned the tap on full force.
“Come on, up we get, sunshine!”
Thrust out of the blessed coolness, Nate moaned as the jackhammers resumed their rhythmic beat, mewling pitifully in frustration.
“You really need to learn how to hold your liquor.”
“Din’ drink…” The minimal movement of his jaw only served to increase the hammering in his head.
“Well, you could’ve bloody well fooled me. You look like Voodoo chewed you up and spat you out.”
“Bed.”
“Don’t even think about it. The paps are waiting at The Lion for you tonight so call Vanessa and let's get this show on the road.”
“Can’t.”
“Not a word which you are entitled to, my boy. You’re here for a week, and I want them to see you out every night, looking as if the sun shines out of your ass. I’ve heard that Nolan, Del Toro and Leighton are sniffing around. We are thisclose to an all out war between Warner and Century for the rights. A fucking hangover isn’t going to blow that deal. Not now, not ever.”
“I can’t, man. Look at me!” Nate vaguely gestured up and down, hand shuddering in the process.
“I’ve got just the thing.” Leaning him against the wall, Steve dug into his jacket pocket, bringing out a bottle of pills.
“What the hell-no fucking way!” Alarmed, Nate desperately tried to clear his bleary vision, stumbling backwards from the outstretched hand.
“Do I look a goddamned drug dealer to you?! These are just going to clear your head - give you a little buzz, a little pep. I need you to look like a human being, Nate, not some shit on the sole of someone’s shoe.”
“No-one’s even gonna care about me. Look, I’ll do this thing tomorrow, alright? Just let me get some sleep. I’ll dazzle them at the book signing and then Vanessa and I will go wherever the hell you want. I’ve got something special planned -- trust me, it’s gonna make the whole week a slam dunk.”
“What exactly-” An angry buzzing rippled the front of Steve’s shirt. Holding up a finger to his lips, he extracted the cell phone, a slight tightening of his forehead indicating his displeasure. “Steve Brooks speaking… Uhuh… Uhuh… Yeah… Hold on a second…” Slamming a hand over the phone, he mouthed, “Who the bloody hell is Doug?”
“Doug? I don’t know, let me think.” Trying to concentrate, Nate massaged his temples, the vacuum of pain making it practically impossible to remember his own name, never mind anybody else’s. Was Doug the guy that used to date Vanessa’s sister? Or was he the valet that Nate occasionally went drinking with when he wanted a little slice of home away from home? Everyone’s faces blurring together the more he thought about it, he finally gave up, muttering, “I really don’t know. Just take a message, will you?” Snatching the bottle from Steve’s hand, he stumbled through to the kitchen, helplessly vomiting in the sink in the process of trying to unscrew it. Inhaling two pills without chewing, he mashed a number with a shaky hand, “Hey, babe. Yeah, sorry, looks like tonight is back on.” Wincing at the excited tone on the other end of the phone, he rubbed his temples a little harder, willing himself to focus on the only good part of this whole godforsaken charade.
Albany, New York
“Yes, of course. I understand. Please let him know I called.” Lowering the phone, Doug rhythmically clenched and unclenched his fist, the action only seeming to fuel his anger further. Before he could fully think through his actions, his arm was in motion, the phone shattering against the wall.
“Well, quite the arm you got there, young man. Maybe the Yankees got themselves a new pitcher.”
A blush of mortification and cooling anger heating his neck, Doug stammered out, “I-I am so sorry. Shit. I didn’t mean to scare you. I am not normally like this, I swear.” Gathering his courage and readying a further apology, he turned around, coming face to face with an old man whose sallow skin hung from his jowls. Trembling, vein-ridden hands moved the walker close enough that Doug was confronted by a hidden twinkle in the rheumy eyes. “Seems to me like you got yourself a problem, son. And they do say a problem shared is a problem halved.”
“Yes, well… they say a lot of things.”
“Don’t they, though? People love to yammer-you should spend a day in here. Seems to me though, ain’t quite so good at listening. Well, ‘cept the ones that can’t get away quick enough, of course.” Cackling up phlegm, he cleared his throat, eventually taking another shaky step forward. “So… least you got yourself something I ain’t heard before. Why don’t you spare an old man some boredom?”
Inwardly sighing, Doug considered it for a moment, even the act of talking about the matter feeling like a betrayal. Seeing no harm were he to keep it totally anonymous, he tentatively began, “I have this, uh, friend.”
“You got a gal knocked up, huh?”
“What? Uh, no. I mean, I could-but…”
Another cackle rent the air. “I like you, son. What’d you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. It’s Doug. Douglas Banks.”
“You any relation to Elizabeth?”
“She’s my mother.”
“Well,” the wreathing, near toothless smile somehow elongated the old man’s jaw, Doug immediately reminded of Lily’s favourite painting, The Scream. “Any relation of Elizabeth’s is a friend of mine. Jake. Jake Sommersby.”
Shaking the proffered hand, Doug was shocked by the prominence of the bones and its lack of substance, so different from the one that had encompassed his earlier. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Sir was for my daddy. I don’t stand for all that nonsense. Jake is fine. ‘
Enough of the pleasantries though, carry on.”
“I have this friend. He’s in a tight spot. He used to know someone, not so long ago. Now that someone is in a position to help him and he-he really needs help. But this someone he knew, well, he won’t even take his calls.”
“He a good man?”
“Used to be.”
“Don’t exactly recall saying who I meant.”
“Works both ways.”
“So it’s like that, huh?” Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Jake’s faded blue eyes evaluated the younger man. “Not quite the whole story though, is it, son?”
“No, sir.” At the warning glint, Doug hastily corrected, “No, Jake. This friend is-he knows something. Something that this other someone wouldn’t want getting out.”
“He get someone knocked up?”
Chuckling, Doug shook his head, “No, no-one knocked anyone up, sorry to disappoint you.”
Jake’s skin somehow sagged lower, “Hmph, pity. So this secret… gonna ruin someone’s life?”
“Maybe. Yes. I don’t know for sure. But he can afford it. I mean-” embarrassed to have slipped up so easily, Doug quickly corrected himself, “he can afford to weather the storm.”
“Can his family?”
“What do you mean?”
“Man looks after his family. He puts ‘em first. Everything else-well, he lets nature take care of that.”
“What about…?”
“Nothing more to it that that. Underneath the trappings, a man is a predator, Doug. You, with your TVs and your fancy toys, you’ve forgotten all that. Animals protect their own. It’s instinct. Ain’t no damned lion sitting out there fretting about this kind of crap.”
“Isn’t that why we are supposed to be different?”
“No, they just want you to think that you are different. So they can sell you this!” Panting with the effort, Jake fished out a basic cell phone from his pocket. “Just look at this contraption-buttons so small my fingers can barely hit ‘em and why do I need one anyways? You wanna speak to me? You come see me in person. This-this is just a sorry excuse. ‘I am too busy to come see you this weekend, Daddy. Hope things are going well. Love you. Bye.’ Don’t even get me started on the texting. Pah!” Shaking his head in disgust, Jake shoved the phone into Doug’s hands. “Here, you have it. Probably get more use out of it than I ever will.”
“I can’t take it, Mr Sommersby, or at least not for good. Though, as I find myself temporarily without one,” Doug smiled sheepishly, “would you mind if I…?”
“Go ahead, got to be going anyways. Green jello day today. Can’t be missing that.” Rolling his eyes, he snorted sarcastically, tottering on his heels in an awkward sideways movement. “Be seeing you, Doug.”
“Not if I see you first. And thanks, Jake… for everything.”
“Your mama done you right, boy. Be sure to do the same in turn.”
“Yes, sir,” Doug whispered under his breath, his thumb already flying over the keypad.
As soon as Jake was sufficiently out of reach, he dialled the number, immediately greeted by an upbeat, “Directory Assistance. Which city?”
“New York.”
The earlier flash hit again, the melodic, carefree laughter turning raucous. He let the image of his friends melt into his mother’s vacant stare, heard Jake’s rough timbre repeating his words. It proved all the motivation that was needed.
“Business or private?”
“I’d like the number for The New York Times.”
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the easily recognizable characters. The rest is a nice mix between the real and fictional.
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: NC-15 (for a heck of a lot of swearing)
Word Count: ~ 3,000
Author's Note I: Based on
mxrolkr's great prompt, "What if Miranda blacklisted Andy from publishing and Andy wrote a set of children's books instead? What if the twins identified with the characters so much that they were desperate to meet the author? How would Miranda react when she found out?"
Constructive criticism is welcome and very much appreciated.
Author's Note II: I know this story has a bit of a longer build-up to any Miranda/Andy interaction than most. In fact--if my next two chapters go as planned, then Andy will actually only appear in Chapter 5. However, Miranda does put two and two together well before that--so I promise you will be returned to your regular programming in due course. I just thought it was worthwhile to really flesh out and play with the full cast of characters (and their motivations/circumstances), especially given that the story spans such a number of years and events.
“When you cast a pebble into a pond, look beyond the first ripple.” - Magistrate Velia of Aquallon, ‘The Forests of Moleris’
Late 2009
Albany, New York
“Mr Banks, do you have a moment?”
Steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation that he had no inclination or energy for, Doug stopped mid-stride, shuffling in a clumsy u-turn. “Dr Stevens.” Acknowledging the middle-aged woman with a curt nod, he queried edgily, “What can I do for you?”
“In to see your mother?” The penetrating stare scanned Doug from the tips of his slightly scuffed shoes to the ruffled fringe, almond eyes narrowing at the tail end of the examination.
“Yes. Is that a crime?” Inwardly cringing at his own frosty tone, Doug made an effort to soften his stance.
“No, of course not. But bouncing cheques-that’s another matter entirely.”
Swiping his chapped, dry lips with a flick of a tongue, Doug tried to bluff, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do. You’ve always been a terrible liar, Douglas. I’ve never needed childhood stories to confirm that. Now tell me-creases in an ill-fitting suit that’s seen much better days, a haircut that’s just lopsided enough that I know it wasn’t done professionally, the fact that you’ve lost, I am guessing, near enough twenty pounds-and now this?” Laura Stevens extracted a crisply folded sheet from within her coat pocket. “So… when exactly did you lose your job?”
A burning wave of humiliation washed over him that even here, where people only saw him a couple of times a month, he couldn’t pull off the air of success. No wonder he’d only managed to line up one interview in the last six weeks. It was bad enough that his résumé set off warning bells for half of New York City but even when he was lucky enough to get his foot in the door, well, apparently his presentation took care of the rest. “I-I…”
“Let me buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk. There’s a Starbucks a couple of doors down.” As if reading his indecision, she added softly but firmly, “This won’t go away, Douglas, no matter how much you want it to. In another month your mother is going to lose her place here at St Margaret’s and then… can you take care of her by yourself? Do you even know how?”
Gaze lowering to prod at an unevenly bitten fingernail, Doug didn’t even bother with an answer.
“That’s what I thought. Come on.”
Mentally running though a dozen carefully prepared lies took care of the short walk to the coffee shop. His first moment of awareness became a hot mug thrust in his general direction, a gentle shove pushing him down into a seat. “How did you know?” Doug stared at the foamy latte in surprise.
“You’ve been coming to visit your mother for seven years. And earlier, back when she was a little better, she talked about you. A lot.”
An involuntary smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, she does go on a bit. Sorry.”
“She’s a lovely woman, Doug. And you are a good son. But you can’t take care of her if you can’t even take care of yourself. So tell me… how long has it been?”
Pride and accountability hunching his shoulders, the carefully concocted story effortlessly sprung to his lips. Raising his gaze to the expectant one which regarded him with a wealth of patience, he opened his mouth, blurting out a totally unplanned, “Eightmonths.” Having fought for freedom for so long, the truth sailed out in one long exhalation, bringing with it an overwhelming lightness that he hadn’t expected to feel.
“Eight months?! Why didn’t you let us know sooner? We have programs, plans… we could have worked out some sort of-”
“I couldn’t. I just-if I told anyone, it’d be like… I mean if I never said it out loud then maybe…” A warm palm covered his death grip on the mug, the comforting touch breaking through the leftover barrier of resistance. “I kept thinking that I’d get the next one, then the one after, then… It wasn’t till three months ago that someone was kind enough to sit me down and just tell me flat out that I am not going to get hired again for a while, not with that on my résumé. So I started applying for any odd job that I could find but in this climate… Hell, I am a fucking graduate who is getting turned down to stack shelves in a store! It’s just…” chest heaving, Doug turned away, unwilling to let a near stranger see the film of tears.
“What is it that makes you such a leper, Doug? Your flaws are certainly well hidden.”
“Peterson, Smith & Northam.”
“I see.”
In the ensuing weight of silence, Doug reached for a sip of the latte, his taste buds revelling in the now almost forgotten smoothness of flavour.
“Well, that whole incident was hardly Enron.”
“You live in a different world and you know about it, don’t you? It was in the papers for weeks. People have long memories. Especially right now.”
“If my memory serves me right, the allegations were unproven.”
“Doesn’t matter. There’s no smoke without fire, that’s what people kept saying.” Turning to face her again, Doug spat out bitterly, “By the time the dust settled, the whole place was just… gone. I was only a research analyst-it’s not like I was even anywhere near the big decisions. But do you think that anyone cares about the truth -- the actual details? No. I’ve learned that the hard way.”
“So you’ve been paying all the bills yourself?”
“I had investments. Savings. I made them last as long as I could. But now…”
“Now finally the well is dry.”
“Technically, it dried up a month ago.”
“And there’s no-one else? No family? Friends?”
A brief memory of carefree laughter at a local restaurant flashed through his mind, too hazy for anything other than a fleeting burst of fondness. Shaking it off, Doug smiled, “My friend Lily helps me out where she can. You know, invites me to art showings and stuff-that’s practically a free meal sometimes. But she runs an art gallery, not exactly the world’s most profitable job. My other friends,” he paused to swallow the bitterness bubbling in his throat, “I guess as you grow older you tend to drift apart.”
“Well, then.” Assuming a brusque, business-like tone once more, Laura Stevens pulled out a pen and notepad, scribbling furiously as she started to talk. “I have good and bad news. The good news is - I hope you excel at emptying bed pans. The bad news is - we won’t be able to get you to start for at least a month. Meanwhile, perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement. I have a sick cat and I hate that she’s alone the whole day. Maybe I can pay you to-”
“I can’t… I am sorry.” Shooting up, Doug barely remembered his manners, mumbling, “Thank you, though. I’ll take the job. Here’s my number. Call me when you want for me to start.” Throwing his last wrinkled business card down on the table, he spun away, only to find his progress halted by a vice grip round his wrist.
“What are you going to do till then, Doug? Isn’t she worth more than your pride? Look -- most of us are in a tough place once a lifetime. You are still young, you’ll bounce back. She doesn’t have that luxury. Think about that.”
A dozen retorts ran through his head just as his gaze caught a familiar sight in the crumpled, abandoned newspaper. ‘Move over Harry Potter, there’s another wizard in town!’ blazed the headline, a grinning Nate, arm in arm with a slender redhead, exiting some exclusive New York restaurant. Recoiling stiffly, Doug breathed a sigh and closed his eyes, trying to fight back a score of different emotions. Gently tugging free, he felt the leathery, paper-thin skin slide through his fingers, the tips of his own lingering for just a second longer than what would have been deemed appropriate, before he finished dispassionately, “Thank you, Dr Stevens, I’ll see what I can do. I promise.”
The Plaza Hotel, New York
Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Nate gingerly felt his way to the bathroom, resting his forehead on the tile as he reached his destination. Twisting the tap, he plunged his head under the cold water, almost groaning in relief as the pounding in his temples momentarily abated. Before he could enjoy the respite, the pounding resumed again, Nate taking so long to distinguish between the imaginary and real that when it ceased again, he didn’t give it a moment’s thought.
“Jesus H. Christ-what the fuck did you get up to last night?”
Blindly waving a dismissive hand in his publicist’s general direction, Nate turned the tap on full force.
“Come on, up we get, sunshine!”
Thrust out of the blessed coolness, Nate moaned as the jackhammers resumed their rhythmic beat, mewling pitifully in frustration.
“You really need to learn how to hold your liquor.”
“Din’ drink…” The minimal movement of his jaw only served to increase the hammering in his head.
“Well, you could’ve bloody well fooled me. You look like Voodoo chewed you up and spat you out.”
“Bed.”
“Don’t even think about it. The paps are waiting at The Lion for you tonight so call Vanessa and let's get this show on the road.”
“Can’t.”
“Not a word which you are entitled to, my boy. You’re here for a week, and I want them to see you out every night, looking as if the sun shines out of your ass. I’ve heard that Nolan, Del Toro and Leighton are sniffing around. We are thisclose to an all out war between Warner and Century for the rights. A fucking hangover isn’t going to blow that deal. Not now, not ever.”
“I can’t, man. Look at me!” Nate vaguely gestured up and down, hand shuddering in the process.
“I’ve got just the thing.” Leaning him against the wall, Steve dug into his jacket pocket, bringing out a bottle of pills.
“What the hell-no fucking way!” Alarmed, Nate desperately tried to clear his bleary vision, stumbling backwards from the outstretched hand.
“Do I look a goddamned drug dealer to you?! These are just going to clear your head - give you a little buzz, a little pep. I need you to look like a human being, Nate, not some shit on the sole of someone’s shoe.”
“No-one’s even gonna care about me. Look, I’ll do this thing tomorrow, alright? Just let me get some sleep. I’ll dazzle them at the book signing and then Vanessa and I will go wherever the hell you want. I’ve got something special planned -- trust me, it’s gonna make the whole week a slam dunk.”
“What exactly-” An angry buzzing rippled the front of Steve’s shirt. Holding up a finger to his lips, he extracted the cell phone, a slight tightening of his forehead indicating his displeasure. “Steve Brooks speaking… Uhuh… Uhuh… Yeah… Hold on a second…” Slamming a hand over the phone, he mouthed, “Who the bloody hell is Doug?”
“Doug? I don’t know, let me think.” Trying to concentrate, Nate massaged his temples, the vacuum of pain making it practically impossible to remember his own name, never mind anybody else’s. Was Doug the guy that used to date Vanessa’s sister? Or was he the valet that Nate occasionally went drinking with when he wanted a little slice of home away from home? Everyone’s faces blurring together the more he thought about it, he finally gave up, muttering, “I really don’t know. Just take a message, will you?” Snatching the bottle from Steve’s hand, he stumbled through to the kitchen, helplessly vomiting in the sink in the process of trying to unscrew it. Inhaling two pills without chewing, he mashed a number with a shaky hand, “Hey, babe. Yeah, sorry, looks like tonight is back on.” Wincing at the excited tone on the other end of the phone, he rubbed his temples a little harder, willing himself to focus on the only good part of this whole godforsaken charade.
Albany, New York
“Yes, of course. I understand. Please let him know I called.” Lowering the phone, Doug rhythmically clenched and unclenched his fist, the action only seeming to fuel his anger further. Before he could fully think through his actions, his arm was in motion, the phone shattering against the wall.
“Well, quite the arm you got there, young man. Maybe the Yankees got themselves a new pitcher.”
A blush of mortification and cooling anger heating his neck, Doug stammered out, “I-I am so sorry. Shit. I didn’t mean to scare you. I am not normally like this, I swear.” Gathering his courage and readying a further apology, he turned around, coming face to face with an old man whose sallow skin hung from his jowls. Trembling, vein-ridden hands moved the walker close enough that Doug was confronted by a hidden twinkle in the rheumy eyes. “Seems to me like you got yourself a problem, son. And they do say a problem shared is a problem halved.”
“Yes, well… they say a lot of things.”
“Don’t they, though? People love to yammer-you should spend a day in here. Seems to me though, ain’t quite so good at listening. Well, ‘cept the ones that can’t get away quick enough, of course.” Cackling up phlegm, he cleared his throat, eventually taking another shaky step forward. “So… least you got yourself something I ain’t heard before. Why don’t you spare an old man some boredom?”
Inwardly sighing, Doug considered it for a moment, even the act of talking about the matter feeling like a betrayal. Seeing no harm were he to keep it totally anonymous, he tentatively began, “I have this, uh, friend.”
“You got a gal knocked up, huh?”
“What? Uh, no. I mean, I could-but…”
Another cackle rent the air. “I like you, son. What’d you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. It’s Doug. Douglas Banks.”
“You any relation to Elizabeth?”
“She’s my mother.”
“Well,” the wreathing, near toothless smile somehow elongated the old man’s jaw, Doug immediately reminded of Lily’s favourite painting, The Scream. “Any relation of Elizabeth’s is a friend of mine. Jake. Jake Sommersby.”
Shaking the proffered hand, Doug was shocked by the prominence of the bones and its lack of substance, so different from the one that had encompassed his earlier. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Sir was for my daddy. I don’t stand for all that nonsense. Jake is fine. ‘
Enough of the pleasantries though, carry on.”
“I have this friend. He’s in a tight spot. He used to know someone, not so long ago. Now that someone is in a position to help him and he-he really needs help. But this someone he knew, well, he won’t even take his calls.”
“He a good man?”
“Used to be.”
“Don’t exactly recall saying who I meant.”
“Works both ways.”
“So it’s like that, huh?” Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Jake’s faded blue eyes evaluated the younger man. “Not quite the whole story though, is it, son?”
“No, sir.” At the warning glint, Doug hastily corrected, “No, Jake. This friend is-he knows something. Something that this other someone wouldn’t want getting out.”
“He get someone knocked up?”
Chuckling, Doug shook his head, “No, no-one knocked anyone up, sorry to disappoint you.”
Jake’s skin somehow sagged lower, “Hmph, pity. So this secret… gonna ruin someone’s life?”
“Maybe. Yes. I don’t know for sure. But he can afford it. I mean-” embarrassed to have slipped up so easily, Doug quickly corrected himself, “he can afford to weather the storm.”
“Can his family?”
“What do you mean?”
“Man looks after his family. He puts ‘em first. Everything else-well, he lets nature take care of that.”
“What about…?”
“Nothing more to it that that. Underneath the trappings, a man is a predator, Doug. You, with your TVs and your fancy toys, you’ve forgotten all that. Animals protect their own. It’s instinct. Ain’t no damned lion sitting out there fretting about this kind of crap.”
“Isn’t that why we are supposed to be different?”
“No, they just want you to think that you are different. So they can sell you this!” Panting with the effort, Jake fished out a basic cell phone from his pocket. “Just look at this contraption-buttons so small my fingers can barely hit ‘em and why do I need one anyways? You wanna speak to me? You come see me in person. This-this is just a sorry excuse. ‘I am too busy to come see you this weekend, Daddy. Hope things are going well. Love you. Bye.’ Don’t even get me started on the texting. Pah!” Shaking his head in disgust, Jake shoved the phone into Doug’s hands. “Here, you have it. Probably get more use out of it than I ever will.”
“I can’t take it, Mr Sommersby, or at least not for good. Though, as I find myself temporarily without one,” Doug smiled sheepishly, “would you mind if I…?”
“Go ahead, got to be going anyways. Green jello day today. Can’t be missing that.” Rolling his eyes, he snorted sarcastically, tottering on his heels in an awkward sideways movement. “Be seeing you, Doug.”
“Not if I see you first. And thanks, Jake… for everything.”
“Your mama done you right, boy. Be sure to do the same in turn.”
“Yes, sir,” Doug whispered under his breath, his thumb already flying over the keypad.
As soon as Jake was sufficiently out of reach, he dialled the number, immediately greeted by an upbeat, “Directory Assistance. Which city?”
“New York.”
The earlier flash hit again, the melodic, carefree laughter turning raucous. He let the image of his friends melt into his mother’s vacant stare, heard Jake’s rough timbre repeating his words. It proved all the motivation that was needed.
“Business or private?”
“I’d like the number for The New York Times.”